Page 35 of Souvenir of Love

“Apologize for touching her, Dinsmore.”

“No,” he whispered, “I cannot.”

Rafe’s eyes narrowed. “Cannot?” He pressed the point of his sword and a bright spot of red appeared at its tip. “Come, come, man, you will not.”

“I cannot say I regret making love to Elizabeth.” He lifted his chin and the spot at his neck lengthened into a scrape. “I will not die with a lie on my lips.”

Rafe assessed the bloodied figure beneath his blade. An expression that might have been understanding, perhaps laced with pity, flickered across his face. “Do you fancy yourself in love, Dinsmore?” he said softly.

James closed his eyes.

“She is not for you,” he added, even more softly.

With a flick of his wrist, he brought his blade up, opening James’s cheek.

“So she will never again be cozened by your pretty face.” The deep gash on James’s face ran blood. “So that wherever you go, people will know you for the dishonorable cur that you are!”

Twelve

Elizabeth gave up any pretense of trying to sleep. It was very early, but she rang for her maid and dressed. Then tried to keep busy. She read, but after her eyes slid past the same paragraph four times, she put the book aside. She thought she might write a letter, but didn’t know to whom. She’d received a note from Arabella Norcroft’s mother, requesting that she “cease importuning” her daughter. The cool formality of the words had taken her breath away. She wished Arabella were here now, with her warm brown eyes and her teasing good humor. They might have found some way to laugh over this whole hideous situation. Though there wasn’t anything remotely funny about her brother dueling with the man she… Elizabeth paused, uncertain exactly how to complete her thought.

Her chest felt suddenly tight.

She couldn’t breathe.

She needed to walk somewhere. She needed to talk to someone.

She ventured down the stairs into the parlor. Alix was sitting alone, methodically tearing linen into strips and laying them in a basket at her feet. From the size of the pile, she’d made enoughto bandage the entire household twice over. Nevertheless, Elizabeth offered to help.

“It is not necessary,” Alix said, her gaze making Elizabeth feel as if she were an ogre, too large and clumsy for the room.

“I am disturbing you?” she asked, her voice rising in a question.

“Not at all,” Alix replied. She turned her eyes toward the window that overlooked the front steps of Moreham House.

“They haven’t returned…” Elizabeth ventured.

“Yourbrotheris still out,” Alix said stiffly.

Elizabeth cursed herself silently for being so insensitive. “I think perhaps I shall return to my room.”

Alix nodded, her eyes still fixed on the glass.

They both have to return safe and unharmed, Elizabeth told herself as she mounted the stairs. Each footstep seemed to echo: Rafe, James, Rafe, James.Where are they now? What are they doing at this precise moment? Are they hurt? And why, oh why, did she have to feel so hideously helpless?

As she reached the top of the stairs she heard the front door open, footsteps, and men’s voices. She heard Alix crying out Rafe’s name, the sound hopeful and yet terrified. Elizabeth started down the stairs two at a time. When she reached the final landing she stopped, staring at the sight below. Rafe’s bloodied arms were wrapped tightly around Alix. Her hands were on his face. She seemed to be laughing and crying and kissing him all at once.

Immediately footmen and maids surrounded the couple, expressing concern and anxious to help.

Louisa was there, too, with the pug worrying the hem of her gown. Elizabeth didn’t know where to look; she didn’t know what to say. Her brother was alive, and despite the blood he didn’t seem to be seriously hurt.

James.What of James? Was the blood his? Was he hurt? Was he even alive?She wanted to scream the questions, but she didn’t dare. She pressed her lips together and hurried back up the stairs to her room. She crawled under the bed and pulled her limbs together tightly as if she might somehow vanish completely.

“You are hurt.”Alix kissed Rafe again, her lips salty with her tears and his sweat and blood. Not ready to ask how close she might have come to losing him, she said between kisses, “I have a bath waiting upstairs, warm water, fresh soap, and bandages.” A weak laugh escaped her. “Enough bandages to wrap you from head to toe.”

He loosened his embrace. “Did you think me such a poor swordsman, my love?”

“I did not know what else to do…”